


Sketchy Motels and Game of Thrones

by Triangulum



Series: Sketchy Motels and Game of Thrones [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek thinks Stiles is a prostitute, M/M, Mentions of Prostitution, Mentions of Sex, Singe Dad Stiles, Stiles loves Game of Thrones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 14:06:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3899110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triangulum/pseuds/Triangulum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Never mind,” Derek said, shaking his head. “It’s none of my business what you do, sorry.”</p><p>“I just don’t get it, my clients? I – oh my god!” Stiles yelled, eyes going wide. “Oh my god, you think I’m a hooker!”</p><p>OR</p><p>The one where Derek thinks Stiles is a prostitute and Stiles loves Game of Thrones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sketchy Motels and Game of Thrones

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Sketchy Motels and Game of Thrones](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7198310) by [strangerwerewolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangerwerewolf/pseuds/strangerwerewolf)



When Derek’s sixth grade guidance counselor had asked what he wanted to do with his life, he’d probably said something like become an astronaut or a doctor, he couldn’t quite remember. He was pretty sure, though, that he hadn’t said that he wanted to work weekends at a shitty roach motel. As it turned it, Peter was very good at getting what he wanted and for some reason, he wanted Derek working the front counter at one of his shitty motels three nights a week.

In reality, it wasn’t so bad; it gave him plenty of time to work on his dissertation. He usually only had to speak with people for about five minutes at a time, which Peter always said was perfect for Derek, and in all honesty, on the weekend most of the clientele that came in were either johns or prostitutes and weren’t exactly interested in making polite conversation. There was one exception, and it absolutely killed Derek. His name was Stiles and he was a prostitute.

“Hey, Derek,” Stiles said, tapping his long fingers on the desk in front of him. Derek fought the urge to smack the hand away.

“Stiles,” Derek said with a small smile, which was more than anyone else ever got from him. It wasn’t as if Stiles was the best part of Derek’s week or anything. Not at all. “The usual?”

“Yep,” Stiles said, rocking a bit on his heels. Derek’s eyes trailed over where Stiles’ long fingers were tapping absentmindedly on the desk between them. He sound of a throat clearing snapped Derek’s attention back to Stiles, who was looking at him with a smug little smirk.

Glaring, Derek handed Stiles the key for room six (when Derek had asked why he always wanted that room, Stiles had said it was quieter since it was at the end of the hall. Derek wasn’t sure why Stiles wanted quiet for what he did, but then again, Derek had never hired a prostitute, so how would he know?).

“Thanks,” Stiles said, shit-eating grin still in place, and winks. “I’ll see you in an hour, I’ll let you know how it is.”

Derek choked on his own uvula while Stiles laughed and waved over his shoulder and walked toward room six. He was going to be the death of Derek.

Derek tried to not let his mind wander to Stiles as he tidied up the front desk and pulled out his laptop. He failed spectacularly, accidentally typing ‘Stiles’ into his notes instead of searching for the Angela Davis reference he’d jotted down a few hours ago. Growling in frustration, he closed his laptop a little harder than necessary and pulled out his phone, deciding to waste some time on Words with Friends before Cora gutted him for taking so long to play his turn. (“Why are you so bad at this? You’re in grad school for literature.” “Shut up, it’s not the same thing.” “You suck, Derek.” “Does anyone even play this game anymore?” “I do, now hurry the fuck up.”)

Every so often, the door would open and someone would come through the lobby, either someone with a room or an obvious john, head down and walking fast. Usually Derek just rolled his eyes at them, not caring even a little bit what other people did with their lives, as long as they weren’t hurting others (which was why there was a shotgun proper up behind his desk. Peter had laughed, saying, “No one cares about the whores, Derek.” Derek kept the shotgun where it was.), but whenever Stiles was at the motel, Derek paid extra attention to who came in the front door. He desperately wanted to see who Stiles’ clients were because damn, he was jealous that they got to experience Stiles.

See, Stiles was at the motel every Sunday at 9:00 pm. Never any other day, never any other time, 9:00 pm every Sunday. So Derek assumed he was meeting the same person every week. He had two theories. A. Stiles was a prostitute and had a very particular client that he always met Sunday nights, or B. Stiles was meeting a married man or woman and they only could see him once a week. That thought made Derek irrationally angry. Stiles was perfect, he deserved to be more than someone’s dirty little secret. Stiles was kind, Stiles was hilarious and gorgeous and Stiles…Stiles was…

Stiles was racing down the hall toward Derek, skidding to a stop in front of the desk, eyes wide and chest heaving. 

“Der-ek,” Stiles panted and damn if Derek hadn’t imagined Stiles panting his name before, but this wasn’t the time, Derek was in panic mode and two seconds away from grabbing the shotgun.

“Stiles! Are you okay?” Derek asked, rushing around the desk. He took Stiles’ face in his hands, turning it from side to side, checking for injuries. His eyes snapped to Stiles’ face when the other man’s breath caught, ready to charge into Stiles’ room and murder whoever had hurt him.

“I’m fine,” Stiles squeaked. “Totally fine, yep. Fabulous. Uh, have you seen a tan guy, floppy hair, crooked jaw?”

“No,” Derek said, frowning. “Did he hurt you?”

“Did he – no!” Stiles said, pulling back from Derek in surprise. “No, dude Scott’s a puppy. If he comes by, can you give him something for me?”

“Sure?” Derek said slowly, completely lost. The adrenaline from the fear of Stiles being hurt was wearing away, leaving Derek mostly confused.

“Great, I – Scott!”

Derek looked up to see a crooked-jawed man come in the front door and yep, totally a puppy. Stiles was at his side in an instant, pulling something out of his pocket and shoving it into Scott’s hands. Derek desperately hoped it wasn’t drugs.

“There, we good? Okay good, gotta go,” Stiles said, turning to go back down the hall to his room.

“Sure,” Scott said, laughing, then turned his attention to Derek. “So, I’m guessing you’re Derek.”

Before Derek could answer, Stiles spun on his heel and all shoved Scott back out the door, loudly yelling, “Nope! You gotta go, Scotty. People to see, children to tend to, not talking to Derek, nope, you gotta go and I gotta get back okay, see you, bye!”

Before Derek could get a word in edgewise, Scott was at the front door, shaking his head and laughing and Stiles, completely red in the face, was dashing back down the hallway, the telltale bang of a door slamming shut followed a few seconds later. Derek was left standing in front of his desk, mouth half open and hands still held out in front of him from cupping Stiles’ face, wondering what the fuck just happened.

He probably would have stood there in a daze until someone else came in, but the phone mercifully rang and jolted Derek back to reality. Derek muttered, “Fuck,” and answered, telling the woman on the phone that yes, they had vacancies, no they didn’t have jet tubs, and no, the sheets weren’t over a 1,200 threat count. And fuck you very much, too.

Hanging up, Derek collapsed back into his rolling chair, brain trying to make sense of the Stiles enigma. He had come in every Sunday for the past two months, but Derek had never seen anyone enter or exit the room other than Stiles. And you’d better believe Derek watched for it.

So unless Stiles was letting his clients in through the side door at the end of the hall (possible), they just climbed in and out of the motel room windows. But even if they were coming in through the locked-from-the-inside side door, Derek would have had to see someone at some point, right?

Derek kept his usual, if someone distracted vigil, hoping to catch a glimpse of whoever was in Stiles’ room, though he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he did; the absurd wave of jealousy Derek felt when Stiles had run to Scott was confusing enough.

Sure enough though, it hit 10:05 and as usual, Derek saw Stiles come around the corner and stop at the front desk. For the first time since they met, there was no teasing, just a silence between them that was tense, bordering on awkward. Stiles not talking was weird, especially combined with the way he was nervously biting his lip and looking over Derek’s shoulder instead of his eyes. 

Like he just realized it was still in his hand, Stiles fumbled with the key and slammed it down onto the counter. Wincing, Stiles pulled his hand back, shaking it and cursing under his breath.

“You okay?” Derek asked with a frown.

“Yeah, yeah just normal Stilinski clumsiness,” Stiles said. “It’s a miracle I’m not always in a full boy cast, honestly.”

Derek just snorted, not finding it out of the realm of possibility, and finished running the card Stiles had on file, handing the other man the receipt and a pen. Stiles’ long fingers brushed Derek’s and it took all of his control not to shudder. He may or may not have spent a significant amount of time alone in his bed, imagining how those slender fingers would feel curled up inside of him.

Derek coughed to cover the noise he unintentionally let slip past his lips before asking Stiles, “Was everything okay?” then mentally kicking himself for basically asking Stiles how the sex was.

“Yeah, fine, thanks,” Stiles said. He slid the signed receipt back to Derek with a smile that if he didn’t know better, Derek would describe as shy. “So, uh, see you next week.”

Derek didn’t know what possessed him to do it, maybe it was the weirdly nervous way Stiles was acting, or the weird vibe between them, but before Stiles could make it out the front door, Derek blurted out, “Do they climb in the windows?”

“What?” Stiles asked, turning back with a confused, scrunched up face that Derek refused to find adorable. “Does who what now?”

Fighting his blush (unsuccessfully), Derek asked, “Your clients, I never see anyone come in or out of your room…”

“No,” Stiles said slowly, “Why would they?”

“Never mind,” Derek said, shaking his head. “It’s none of my business what you do, sorry.”

“I just don’t get it, my clients? I – oh my god!” Stiles yelled, eyes going wide. “Oh my god, you think I’m a hooker!”

Derek paled.

“You’re…not?” he asked slowly.

“No! Oh my god, why would you think that?” Stiles asked.

“I wasn’t judging you, the girls, and guy or two, that come in are really good people. They’re just doing what they need to do to get by,” Derek said, shrugging.

“Oh my god, you’re fucking adorable, it’s not fair,” Stiles moaned. “Seriously though, if you never saw me with anyone, why’d you think I was a prostitute?!”

“You rent a motel room by the hour!” Derek exclaimed. “You come in at the same time every Sunday, only Sundays, I checked. I assumed you have some kind of standing appointment.”

“Fuck me,” Stiles muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. _I wish_ , Derek thought. “I kind of do, but it’s not for sex! Christ, I haven’t been laid for over a year, which is so not the point, it’s just dude, you have free HBO!”

Derek blinked slowly. “So?”

“This is so embarrassing. I come to watch Game of Thrones, okay?” Stiles said, hiding his face behind his hands. When Derek didn’t say anything for a few moments, Stiles peeked through his fingers. 

“Game of Thrones,” Derek said flatly.

“Yes, okay? I spend literally all day, every day with my two year-old daughter and Scott’s one year-old son and I seriously just need one night without tantrums and diapers and screaming interrupting Game of Thrones!”

Derek stared at Stiles.

"You rent a motel room once a week...to watch Game of Thrones," Derek said, making sure he'd heard that right.

" _Yes_ ," Stiles said. "No selling of my ass involved!"

“There are so many easier ways to watch Game of Thrones,” Derek said finally. Stiles huffed.

“I _know_ that,” Stiles said. “I may have come back because of the hot, grumpy front desk guy.”

“You…” Derek said.

“Who also thinks I’m a hooker, so there goes that.”

“So you’re not dating that guy, Scott?” Derek asked slowly. 

“God no.” Stiles shuddered. “I’m terminally single. He’s my roommate and best bro. He only came by because I had my kid’s pacifier in my jacket pocket and she won’t sleep without it. Why’d you look so freaked out?”

“I thought you were being attacked!”

“Oh right, by the invisible guy who paid to fuck me?”

“Shut up,” Derek groaned, running a hand over his face. Derek’s brain was still trying too hard to untangle everything that had happened in the last few minutes to say anything intelligent; instead he just stared somewhat blankly at Stiles. Stiles who Derek had been fantasizing about for months. Whose hands and ass and mouth had been torturing Derek since the first time he saw them. Stiles who was SINGLE and hadn't been coming to the motel to meet anyone for sex. Stiles.

Apparently he’d been silently staring for too long because Stiles sighed, shoulders sagging.

“Yeah, I went and made it awkward by calling you hot motel guy, that’s great going, Stiles,” he muttered. “So I’m going to go and drown myself in a lake somewhere. Bye.”

That made Derek’s brain click right back online. If Stiles walked out that door, Derek knew he probably would never see him again.

“Wait,” Derek said before Stiles could turn away. “Don’t come here next Sunday.”

Stiles winced. “Yeah, wasn't planning on it, but jeez dude, no need to be a dick about it,” Stiles said, hunching over a bit. Derek wanted to punch himself in the face. Cora was right, he had the social skills of a turnip.

“No! Fuck, no that’s not what I meant,” Derek said. He ran around the desk and grabbed Stiles’ wrist gently, not enough to trap him but enough to make him know that Derek didn’t want him to leave. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant I have HBO, watch it with me. At my house. Not here.” Wow, he sucked.

A slow grin was spreading across Stiles’ face, though, and Jesus Christ, Derek was so gone, he wanted to make Stiles smile like that all the time.

“Derek, are you asking me out?” Stiles asked, a teasing lilt in his voice.

“Yes,” Derek said, squeezing Stiles’ wrist lightly. “And I’d do it a lot better than this, but I’m terrible.” Stiles laughed, turning his wrist in Derek’s grip so he could slot their fingers together.

“You sure though?” Stiles asked, starting at their intertwined hands. “I mean, even knowing I have a kid? And live with my bro and his family? And I’m a total loser who rents a motel room to watch Game of Thrones and ogle the hot front desk guy?”

“Knowing you’re sweet,” Derek said, squeezing Stiles’ hand. “Knowing you’re funny, and smart, and ridiculously nerdy? Completely gorgeous? And that you love your family?” Derek reeled Stiles in by the hand until they were toe-to-toe, almost close enough for their noses to brush. “Especially knowing that.”

Stiles’ eyes were wide, his lips parted, and god, Derek couldn’t wait to figure out all the ways to make Stiles make that face.

“Wow,” Stiles said. “That is so insanely cheesy and perfect, I swear I might pass out.”

“Don’t do that,” Derek said, nudging his nose against Stiles’. “There are too many things I want to do to you before that.”

“Fuck yes,” Stiles said.

Stiles took the final step, leaning forward and kissing Derek. Despite the innuendo and huskiness in both of their voices, the kiss was soft and sweet. Derek didn’t want to rush this, he didn’t want Stiles for just a quick fuck. He wanted candle-lit dinners and making popcorn before move nights and weekend trips to the beach…he wanted everything.

So he kissed Stiles softly, one big hand cupping his cheek and the other gripped Stiles’ waist. The moan Stiles let out made Derek want to throw him over his shoulder and haul him into one of the dingy motel rooms, but he restrained, wanting his first time with Stiles to be better than a quickie in his uncle’s shit motel. Instead, he pressed another soft kiss to Stiles’ lips before pulling back with a smile.

“So, wow,” Stiles said, looking a bit dazed but grinning widely. “I've wanted to do that for so long.”

“Me, too,” Derek confessed, running his thumb over Stiles’ cheekbone. “So, that’s a yes for Sunday?”

“Fuck yes,” Stiles said. “Do you even watch Game of Thrones?”

“No,” Derek admitted, but that made Stiles grin wider. 

“Looks like we’ll just have to spend some time marathoning it then. Guess you’re stuck with me for a bit,” Stiles said, half joking, half still looking a little unsure. 

“I could definitely be persuaded,” Derek said, running his hand down Stiles’ arm. He got a brilliant smile and a small shiver from Stiles.

“Excellent! Game of Thrones dates are a go,” Stiles said. He kissed the tip of Derek’s nose. “Just wait ‘til it gets to the incest.”

“The _what_?”


End file.
